Drabbles (I guess)
The moment Az’s first vision began, he knew it was not an ordinary dream. Not only because he recognized some of the figures (from the waking vision he’d had over a decade ago), but also from the simple aura of the scene. There was a gravity in the way the queen and her consorts moved, a meaning behind the introduction of each new figure. Az didn’t know what that meaning was, or why he was seeing it, but he knew it was important. Emotion was more kind with the subsequent dream. He was a part of it, for one. Sipping a quite fine hot beverage at the table of a darling bookstore at an indoor market, reading through a nice novel. Two of his trainees were there- or at least he assumed they were his trainees, though he didn’t recognize their faces. They were getting up to some antics, typical spellcasters, you know. But Az’s spot remained untouched, and he had quite the nice minute of tranquility. The realization that he wasn’t as much reading as watching the words on his page brought him the moment of lucidity he needed to realize he was dreaming. A thought came to him, and then to the scene, and then he was joined by his brother. Crow’s hair and hood were down, and he sipped a black tea while he perused what looked like a dark and powerful grimoire. A moment of softness passed as the two raised their mugs at each other in greeting, and then returned to their books. Az got another chapter into his novel before he was interrupted by one of those “trainee”s hurtling past. “Az!” they called. They were smoldering, and not in the figurative sense. “Come play with us!” There was the sound of an explosion, and an unrelated wash of dread went over him. He looked up at his brother. It was still Crow, but his tea and book were gone, and attached to his neck was the second head of a teenage Loret, dead and rotting. Both leered at Az intimidatingly. “Ah, very well.” Az said, sighing. He snapped his book closed with a clack. “That’s enough of that.” And then he woke up. ' ' Blade Guardian Chosen Az was not, despite two decades of training, accustomed to waking up early. Tonight, however, he had not slept so much as napped, considering how late he’d finally been forced into bed. So the early rising wasn’t so much the problem. He woke up before the sun, and saw blue darkness on the pillow beside him. Reluctantly he sat up, blurred and groaning. Heired, still fast asleep beside him, made a soft sound of displeasure and reached a hand towards Az’s retreating form. Az smiled despite himself, and caught the hand only to kiss its palm and return it to its owner. Heired made another noise, and rolled over away from his partner. Az would have slept in his armor had Heired not interfered. It was much for the better, not only for the quality of his meager sleep, but also because the morning routine of polishing and donning armor helped to ground him. He went bare-faced and bare-handed, passing over his box of heart earrings in favor of the black studs he wore to official ceremonies and wars. He put on a pot for his morning tea (which was not so much tea as a custom pre-filtered mix he’d invented as a child and which Heired lovingly referred to as “hot bean water”, but hey, if it did the trick). Az sat at the table by the rising sun, and failed in an attempt not to think. As a rule, Blade Guardian Chosen Az was late to nearly every morning meeting or appointment he made. Of course he hadn’t been when he was only a Guardian or a Vanguard, but what was the point of holding rank if you couldn’t use it to sleep in a little? And Az was far too much of a hedonist to every actually permanently change his routine. But that wasn’t to say he wasn’t capable of being extraordinarily, inhumanly, punctual. He’d worked and walked the halls for too long not to know exactly how long it took to do so. His tea had gone gradually cold along with his blood, his pack was set and ready (had been since last night’s frenzy, in fact), and it took only a glance at his pocketwatch to set him off. The halls were busier than they had any right to be; it was still a military operation, after all. A few of Az’s students and soldiers passed him in the halls. Almost all called out a friendly “Mornin’, Az.” or good-natured, “Finally pinned a morning shift on ya, eh, Az?” Az smiled and nodded politely to each, giving the smallest of waves. They smiled back, gave mostly cheery exits. And then, faillessly, immediately, went to the mess to find out amongst each other just what had happened to their Chosen. No, Az was quite capable of being impressively prompt, if he wanted to be. As the temples chimed their eighth warning, Az crisply half-turned before the door to Secare’s office. As the final bell echoed, he raised one hand, the other locked formally behind his immaculate armor and polesaber, and knocked.